


moving to mars

by somerdaye



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Doctor Who, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somerdaye/pseuds/somerdaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one in which Liam and Louis travelled through time and space together. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	moving to mars

**Author's Note:**

> i accidentally 17k lilo fic. beta'd by my lovely laurencake. a kind of ‘doctor who cast’ au wherein they don’t actually do very much work. there’s also a Big Gay Freakout and way too many run-on sentences. any discrepancies in my description of the television industry is because I know very little about it.
> 
> (originally posted on livejournal: 2012-06-11)

Liam was minding his own business, thanks very much, when the whirlwind first arrived.

“Your get-up’s alright,” a voice from somewhere beyond the script he’d been holding in front of his nose said, “I’m glad they’re not making it _too_ weird since Eleven kind of pulled that off best, didn’t he?”

Though briefly considering ignoring the intruder in his trailer, Liam sighed and lowered his script. He levelled an unimpressed look on the stranger before him. He looked like he belonged in college; his features were older but his red jeans were rolled up around the ankles and his t-shirt was splotched with a graphic design easily done with a few clicks on Photoshop if you had the right brushes (and Liam did). A beanie on the head and glasses perched on his nose -- yeah, this guy was definitely a student.

More importantly, he didn’t work in the studio.

“Sorry, but who are you?” asked Liam. He was trying to be polite but really, there was only so much niceties you could give to a teenage stranger in your trailer.

“I’m the new companion.” When he shrugged, he looked even more juvenile.

Liam frowned, flicking through the first few pages of his script. “I - what? I thought the companion this year was a --”

“Pretty, young girl?” the stranger laughed and made himself comfortable on Liam’s sofa. “Yeah, no, they decided on a change of pace. Too many strongly-worded letters, I suppose. So here I am, the young and pretty _male_ alternate. Louis Tomlinson at your service, Doctor.”

“Is the story staying the same?” was all Liam could think to ask, staring at the words he’d been memorising and hoping it wasn’t for nothing.

“Basically, yes,” Louis said. “I mean, not exactly. There’s no vaguely romantic plot going on now, since ‘Torchwood’s where the gays are’ and all that.” He put air-quotes around each syllable of the sentence to emphasise his irritation. Liam frowned. That didn’t seem -- fair. He nearly said as much out loud, but caught himself in time. They hadn’t even started filming yet and if Liam were to be overheard badmouthing the showrunners... well, replacing him wouldn’t be all that difficult, he was sure. Hundreds of people must audition for the role of Britain’s favourite alien every regeneration.

Thirteen. It was kind of a big deal, to be the thirteenth reincarnation of the Doctor. Eleven’s run was silly but mind-meltingly horrifying and Twelve’s, though set up as a darker and edgier sort, was cut short by the untimely death of the actor. Liam wasn’t sure what they expected of _him_ just yet.

“I can see why they picked you,” said Louis, reminding Liam of his presence. “You’ve got the old eyes.”

“I’ve not,” Liam protested.

“Do so.”

Liam would have happily continued arguing with his -- co-star? -- had Niall not poked his head in the trailer door just then. Liam liked Niall. He wasn’t entirely sure what Niall did, exactly, but then, he wasn’t sure of ninety-percent of the actual jobs of the people around him. “Hi, lads,” he said. “Time for the read-through.”

“Duty calls,” sighed Louis. He stood like it was a chore, like he didn’t beat out a lot of competitors for his job. Liam found it grating but Niall just grinned and shook his head.

“Whatever, Tommo,” Niall said in a familiar voice. Of course they already knew each other. Liam suspected he was the only one who was so lost in his own world that he could barely remember the faces of the ants milling about their busy schedules. He supposed feeling this way, this sort of outcast way, was probably good for his portrayal of the Doctor, but it didn’t mean he had to like it.

 

 

When Liam first stepped onto the newly-constructed set of the TARDIS, he felt instantly at home. He knew it was just his investment in the role talking, but he couldn’t help running his hands over the dashboard and pulling knobs like they would work and he’d be whisked away on an adventure.

He looked up and noticed with a jolt that Louis was watching him. He bit his lip to stop the unnecessary apology, and Louis just smiled a little.

“Like you were born for it,” he said, and Liam’s heart felt like it would float away.

 

 

Louis was a surprisingly competent actor. It’s not that he could act that was surprising, it was the ease from which he switched from Benny Cooper, budding architect, to Louis Tomlinson, goofball extraordinaire, when someone yelled _cut_ \-- like flicking a switch. Liam wished he could do that, could just drop the character and put on a grin and flirt with Mary the assistant director but he just wasn’t able to. He brought what felt like a thousand years of baggage to bed with him every night, sleep elusive because each time he closed his eyes he remembered the face of another fictional character who’d died for the bloody Doctor. Niall thought it was hilarious; Louis thought it was cause to fuss.

“I’m fine, really,” Liam said before Louis could even open his mouth this time.

Pausing in the entry to the TARDIS (instead of using the more easily accessible “fourth wall”, the dork), Louis smiled sheepishly. “Am I that obvious?”

“Your thoughts are always broadcast all over your face,” said Liam. “I doubt secrets are your forte. Subtlety definitely isn’t.”

A mask passed over Louis’ face; a cold one that sent chills up Liam’s arms. He peered into Liam’s eyes from across the TARDIS console, head tilting to one side. “You forget, Doctor, how good of an actor I really am.” And then the moment was broken and Louis was Louis again, all smiles and bubbliness, but it was still disconcerting. He didn’t hear Louis’ offer of tea until the fourth time he’d repeated it, and even then he could only nod dumbly.

_How_? How did someone just -- just stop and _be_ another person, just like that? Confused and slightly envious, Liam finally left the set, trailing behind a chatty Louis.

 

 

After the fifth take of their first running scene, Louis was clutching a stitch in his side.

“How do you do this?” he gasped, glaring at Liam, who wasn’t so much as breathing hard. “I’d be impressed except that it means more work for me.”

“Dunno,” Liam shrugged. “I guess I’m just in good shape.”

“I hate you,” said Louis without heat.

Liam almost offered to train Louis himself, but stopped. That wasn’t his problem, that was Louis’ problem and probably some of the higher-ups’ problem as well, but it certainly wasn’t Liam’s.

 

 

The next day, he offered.

 

 

“Oh, goody,” Louis said when Niall handed them their new scripts. “I was wondering when we’d go to Cardiff.”

“We’re already in Cardiff,” Liam said. Louis poked his nose, which was not unusual in itself. Much to his dismay, Liam had learned via running with his ‘companion’ every Thursday and Sunday that Louis was a very _touchy_ sort of person. He got right offended if Liam shirked away, too, so Liam couldn’t do anything but sit and let his personal space be invaded day after day.

“I meant as Benny and the Doctor.” He flipped to the ending like he always did. “Shit. Of course.”

Liam took the bait. “Of course what?”

“Spoilers,” Louis said, and it wasn’t until hours later, after he’d finished the whole script, that Liam realised he was actually dropping a hint to the ending.

 

 

Danielle Peazer was her name.

She came onto set with her big hair (was that a requirement for the role?) and trilling laugh and swishy dresses, and Liam thought he might have fallen in love right on the spot. The director loved her, said they had great chemistry, and only Louis thought to bring up how impossible it was that this character was returning. Well, the showrunners didn’t care, Liam didn’t care, and the fans who’d caught wind of the storyline were already deep in theorising mode, so he was outvoted.

“Well of course _Liam_ wants you to stay,” Louis said over lunch one day. “He fancies the hell out of you.”

Liam inhaled half his donut rather suddenly. Niall rubbed his back through the ensuing coughing fit, and Liam spared him only a quick appreciative glance before glowering at the nuisance across the table. For her part, Danielle only laughed and said, “Is that so?”, all mischievous and cheeky and god, yes, Liam fancied the hell out of her.

Offense was the best defense, though, so he said, “At least I’m not the one with a laminated Harry Styles poster taped to my ceiling.” Louis flushed a colour red that Liam hadn’t seen before.

“Yes, well,” was all Louis said.

There was a quiet few moments then, and Liam felt like maybe he should apologise, maybe he’d crossed some line he hadn’t been aware of, because Louis was fiddling with his cutlery and acting -- well, embarrassed. Which was certainly not an emotion Liam was familiar (or comfortable) with seeing on Louis’ face. He was still learning all the ins and outs of Louis, what was okay and what wasn’t, and he’d thought Louis’ crush on the winner of the 2012 X Factor was fair game. At least it had been. Without an audience.

Then Niall said, “Well, Harry Styles is fit,” and the slight tension was broken by laughter. No argument there.

 

 

Danielle cornered him after lunch to ask him on a proper date, and not even the kissy noises Louis made through the rest of the day’s rehearsals could wipe the grin off Liam’s face.

 

 

He wasn’t entirely certain he was allowed to, but he texted Louis rather late that night. Just a simple ‘can u come over’. Not thirty seconds later, he received an ‘alright bts’ -- no questions asked. Liam had never really had friends he could just invite over at all hours, nor did he ever think he wanted them. It was almost a blessing, though, when Louis knocked on his door with half a six-pack under one arm and a bag of greasy fast food in the other.

“You know I can’t have either of those things,” Liam said, moving aside to let Louis into his flat.

Never bothered by the prospect of making himself at home, Louis dropped his things onto the kitchen counter, then hoisted himself up beside them.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Louis. “This was my evening, and you interrupted it. I was also watching Avengers Assemble, but I couldn’t be arsed to bring it along as well.” He paused and just looked at Liam for a long while. This was another thing Louis did often, like he was trying to puzzle Liam out. “I take it -- so, the date didn’t go well, then?”

Liam could’ve gone into the whole story; the way he couldn’t shut up about work, the way she hadn’t seemed to mind, the reason she hadn’t minded. The camera flashes. It’d been a long night, though, so he just let his shoulders slump and condensed it to, “Publicity stunt.” Louis’ hiss of indignation was welcome, and Liam could see how hard he was trying not to just start cussing her out.

After what seemed like a lot of struggling, Louis sighed. “I’m sorry, Li. I know... well, I know you really liked her.”

“Not so much with the liking anymore,” Liam assured him.

“Girls suck,” Louis summed up. “I knew there was a reason I swore off ‘em entirely.”

Liam had suspected, of course, but suspicions were one thing. Having them casually confirmed was another entirely, and he fought to keep his face neutral in case Louis was waiting for a reaction. He didn’t seem to be, preoccupied as he was with finding the last chips at the bottom of the McDonald’s bag, but Liam had had friends come out to him before, and there was always that moment of panic that they’d be pushed away.

So he said, “I don’t think blokes would end up being much better, honestly. I think it’s people-in-general who are the jerks.”

Smiling slightly, Louis tilted his head to the side.

“Maybe,” he allowed. “I haven’t been on enough dates to know.”

Liam did a double-take. “You’re joking.” Even Liam knew that Louis was, well, really attractive. One generally had to be, to be in the business they were, but Liam thought that he would’ve been far above the average anyway. Louis, who was munching on some disgusting-looking chips, raised his eyebrows.

“No, yeah,” he said, “I’ve just had the one boyfriend in all the years I’ve been able to understand the concept. And I guess I had dates before that, with girls, but those don’t count.”

Not wanting Louis to see how much this genuinely surprised him, Liam went to the fridge and peered in. Blimey, he had to go shopping. He was almost out of milk, for one thing, and running out of milk was every Brit’s worst nightmare. He spotted a still-ripe apple on the bottom shelf and bent to get it. He wondered if Louis was looking at his arse, then immediately felt guilty for assuming such a thing.

“Tell me more, tell me more,” Liam mocked as he stood, apple in hand, “like, did he have a car?”

He didn’t expect Louis to laugh as hard as he did. His arms wrapped around his waist as he leaned forwards, short bursts of laughter escaping his lips sporadically.

“S-sorry,” he got out between giggles. “Just. I was Danny for a school play and he did the set design and I literally wore his varsity jacket around school, and. Yeah. You couldn’t have picked a funnier way to start that conversation.”

“So you were Danny _and_ Sandy, in a way,” Liam said.

“I was a very confused adolescent.”

“I’d imagine so.” Partially because he was curious -- but mostly because his heart still stung a little from Danielle’s intentions and Louis looked so very happy now that they were on the topic -- Liam asked, “What was his name?”

“Zayn Malik.”

Liam frowned. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Because,” Louis said, swelling up with pride, “he swindled eighth place in the X Factor. Same year as Harry Styles and everything.”

“Wow, bet you wish you were there,” Liam snorted without thinking.

Louis barked out a laugh.

“You’ve no idea. Most sexually frustrated I’ve been since I was fifteen.” He paused, then gave Liam a rather soft look. “I really am sorry about Dani. If it helps, you can make faces behind her back with me during rehearsal on Monday.”

Surprisingly, that did sound like it would help.

“Sorry about Avengers Assemble,” Liam said. Louis said it wasn’t a problem, that he’d seen it more times than was probably healthy in any case, he was just glad he could help, and it felt kind of like a goodbye, so Liam blurted, “You should stay over. It’s -- you know, it’s late. And, yeah.”

Louis agreed happily enough, stuffing the beer in Liam’s fridge and the wrappers of his grossly over-salted meal into the bin. He jerked his head in the direction of the couch, and Liam shook his head.

“Only got the one blanket,” he said. “So you better not be a hog.”

“I’m not promising anything,” said Louis, grinning.

 

 

It occurred to Liam just as he was about to drift off, Louis’ back warm against his own, that perhaps some of what he’d said and done could be misconstrued as flirting; in the same moment he realised how much he actually hated sleeping alone and shrugged mentally, his breathing matched evenly with Louis’.

Whatever. He’d deal with it in the morning.

 

 

He woke up before Louis did, planning on just getting up and going on with his day, but Louis appeared to be some kind of stealth-snuggler. Liam was trapped by arms around his torso and a leg hitched over his hip, Louis’ face smushed into the side of his neck. He sighed. Snuggling was definitely not part of the job description of being Liam’s friend. Still, he didn’t want to wake Louis when they didn’t have anywhere to be that day, so after fidgeting to get comfortable and ignoring Louis’ sleepy groan of protest, Liam coaxed his brain back into sleep.

 

 

The next time his eyes opened, the clock said 10:23. Liam had a moment of panic before remembering he had the day off. He looked behind him, but Louis was gone.

He thought at first that he’d left, but there was singing coming from his kitchen that he sure hoped was Louis.

“I got _chiilllllls,_ they’re multiplyin’!”

Liam shoved his blanket off and stood, popping the kink out of his shoulder. He wasn’t used to sleeping on one side the whole night, and his arm was protesting with the telltale pins and needles. Another thing he wasn’t used to was breakfast being made for him; Louis was scrambling eggs in a frying pan while he danced on the spot and sang one of the prolific songs of Grease.

“You better shape up,” Liam said, deadpan. Louis made a noise that he would later deny as a squeal and spun around.

“I was just --”

“Making breakfast?” Liam walked over and leaned against the counter opposite the spitting frying pan. “Carry on, then, I’m not waiting all day for some eggs.” He flicked Louis’ chin, causing him to smile.

Liam couldn’t help returning the smile, but then his thoughts from last night sprang up again. What if Louis thought he was, like, _interested_? He didn’t want to be That Straight Guy who thought every gay man wanted in his pants, but he also didn’t want to be That Jerk who led someone on just because he liked their company. Not exactly sure how to broach the subject, Liam ended up blurting, “I like girls.”

“Good for you?” Louis managed to side-eye him without turning around.

“No, I --” cutting himself off, Liam made a few vague hand gestures. “I just mean. Like. I’m not saying you fancy me because that’s a little. Presumptuous? I just -- I wanted to make it clear that _I_ don’t fancy _you_ , alright?”

Now Louis did turn, frying pan in hand. He was grinning. “I didn’t really think you did, but thanks.”

“Good, yeah,” Liam said, and Louis said, “Plates?”, making Liam stupidly reply, “I have them.” He was laughed at but he found he didn’t mind very much.

 

 

Over the course of the next month, they finished filming half of the season, River Song was (allegedly) gone for good, and Niall took a brief vacation to Ireland, which left Liam alone with Louis for lunch everyday. That was all right, it wasn’t like -- Liam didn’t _care_ , he really didn’t, it was just that he was starting to get sort of amazed at how much Louis could actually talk. He texted Liam all the bloody time, more often than anyone who spent fourteen hours a day working with him should, plus the Twitter messages and the spare key in Louis’ wallet that was apparently an invitation to hang around Liam’s flat every other day or so. All in all, Liam estimated that he spent more time talking to Louis in that month than most normal human beings ever did, and, well, Louis never seemed to run out of things to talk about.

“I just think it’s ridiculous,” he was arguing now. “Who decided putting a hole in the middle of a donut was a good idea, and where does he live?”

“Might’ve been a she,” Liam said, trying not to be amused by the conversation.

Louis contemplated the chocolate donut he was holding and blew out an annoyed breath. “No, something about it reeks of male design. I mean,” he paused to make an obscene gesture with it. “Right?”

Probably more confusing than Louis’ ability to find a topic anytime he felt the need was the fact that Liam wasn’t tired of it yet. He could honestly listen to Louis babble about nothing for hours. (And he had. Several times.) This should worry him, he knew it should, because people weren’t his best talent and this one was getting under his skin.

It didn’t, though, because it was next to impossible to be anything but relaxed around Louis.

Louis opened his mouth to speak again -- on the same topic or something else, Liam couldn’t be sure -- but the beeping of his phone cut him off.

“Hello?” he answered without even checking the number. Liam could never do that; he had to know who he was speaking to or he wouldn’t be able to carry a proper conversation. Plus, there was only one person he really liked to talk to on the phone besides his mum, and since the bloke in question spent most of his time on Liam’s couch, there wasn’t a lot of need for him to know what his own ringtone even sounded like.

Liam was eating his salad without much interest in the call until Louis’ face went slack. The expression was discomfiting, and Liam debated taking the mobile away.

“Hi,” Louis breathed. A smile was starting to curl his lips, so Liam dismissed the idea of worrying. “It’s -- yeah, been a while. I’m glad you called me back.” There was a pause then, and whoever was on the line (Liam didn’t care, he wasn’t that nosy, honest) said something that made Louis bark a semi-hysterical laugh. “No, yeah, I was talking about you to a friend and I guess drunk me decided I miss you. You know I always -- um, today? Around five, I think, but it depends on -- yeah, of course I will. You’ve got my number now, so text me when you get here. Yes, yeah, cool. Okay. Yeah. Bye.”

When he hung up, he turned bright and excited eyes on Liam, who sighed and said, “Oh, go on then,” like it was a hardship for him to listen to Louis’ ramblings. He really did want to know who was on the phone, though, because there was colour high in Louis’ tanned cheeks and that was fairly unusual in and of itself.

“That was Zayn,” he burst. “Zayn, the one I told you about. Zayn? Eighth place? Varsity jacket?”

“I remember,” Liam said, spearing a mushroom with his plastic fork.

Louis flapped his hands a little. “Well, I called him a week or so ago. His mum’s place, actually, but I guess she passed along my hammered message, because we’re going for drinks after work.”

“Today? I thought we were going bowling.”

“I’ll make it up to you, promise,” Louis said, taking off his glasses to rub at his eyes in a feeble attempt to hide his face-splitting grin. “I just. It’s Zayn. You and I can hang out any old time.”

“Yeah,” said Liam, keeping the frown off his face with great effort. “I guess we can.”

 

 

Zayn was a wonderful guy, he really was. He was in the music industry as a producer, having begged off actual singing after doing the X Factor tour. (“Do you have any idea how terrifying it is,” he’d asked Liam one day over lunch, “to stand in front of thousands of people all on your own?” Liam could honestly say he did.) Though quiet at first, he soon revealed a twisted sense of humour and a rasping laugh that caused such heart-eyes in Liam’s co-star that it must have been unhealthy. He smoked and drew cartoons and knew everything about Louis and he called Danielle Peazer a few choice words after he heard what she’d done to Liam -- _and_ he was sincere about it. More than anything else, he was sincere. Liam could definitely see why Louis was falling all over himself to please the guy but the fact of the matter was just that Liam could not stand him.

He couldn’t even justify the dislike in his own mind, so he never bothered to voice it.

Mostly because Zayn was now quite the prominent figure in his life, with Liam unsure as to how it even happened. Niall adored him straight off, and they’d spent hours talking music while Liam ordered pizza and Louis curled around Zayn like a cat. Somehow Liam’s flat had become the hang-out spot. The third night he’d come home to find all three of them on his sofa, he’d laid down some ground rules.

“No snogging,” he said first off, pointing a finger at a too-innocent Louis. “Or anything else that could be done in the privacy of your own homes. Stop stealing all my Oreos, they’re my favourite. Bring your own food. Don’t order porn on pay-per-view. Clean up after yourselves. And stay out of my bedroom.”

The rules were deemed fair, and that was the end of that. Niall adhered to all of them, even going so far as to stock Liam’s fridge and cupboard with things that had PROPERTY OF NIALL HORAN stickers on them; Zayn kept himself in line, which should have been a point in his favour but instead just raised Liam’s irrational dislike of him; and Louis, well. Rules were made for Louis to break, after all, so it wasn’t all that surprising that he would spend most of his time nuzzling into Zayn’s neck or eating Liam out of house and home. The last rule was the one he broke most often, as he stayed over more nights than not, snuggled into Liam like his own personal furnace.

One lazy afternoon, Zayn stood from the sofa to make grilled sandwiches for lunch (after asking Liam’s permission first, _of course_ ) to Niall’s intense happiness.

“He’s wonderful, isn’t he?” Louis asked, staring after his sort-of-boyfriend with an expression that made Liam’s heart hurt. He hoped the question was rhetorical, because he only grunted noncommittally and turned back to the telly, frustrated for reasons he couldn’t explain when a commercial advertising Harry Styles’ new album came on and Louis didn’t even notice.

 

 

“You don’t like him,” a voice was murmuring into Liam’s neck. He turned blearily, cracking an eye open to see Louis propped beside him on one elbow.

“Like who?” Liam asked stupidly.

Louis was undeterred by his tone, fixing him with a reproachful look. “Zayn. You don’t like him.”

“I do so.” It was a lie that was even harder to make sound true when he’d just woken up, but Liam wasn’t about to back down now. Zayn was a fixture in Louis’ life, and by extension Liam’s, and as his mate, Liam was just going to have to grin and bear it like he had several of his friends’ significant others over the years.

Sighing, Louis lowered himself so he was flush along Liam’s side and snuggled close. Liam wrapped an arm around him instinctively.

“You don’t, though,” Louis said after enough time had passed that Liam thought he’d dropped it. “I know you, Doctor, you’re such an open book. I’m surprised he and Niall haven’t picked up on it yet.”

“They don’t know me as well as you.”

“True.”

There was a long silence then, and despite the fact that Liam very much wanted to fall back asleep, he had a feeling Louis wasn’t done talking. He ran his hand over Louis’ forearm until his friend relaxed. There was something very tense in the way he was lying, even though he was as close to Liam as was physically possible without -- but no, Liam’s mind would definitely not go there, thanks.

Sure enough, Louis asked “Why not?” in such a genuinely confused voice that Liam answered with the absolute truth -- “I don’t know.”

“Oh,” said Louis.

“I’m sorry. I mean -- I tried to like him, I did, because he’s great and you really -- but I can’t and I’ve no clue why.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to like him just ‘cos I do.” Quite a lot of the tension had left Louis now, which was good because Liam honestly had no idea how to deal with certain emotions in Louis, and tenseness was one of them. “I just wish you would’ve told me, else I wouldn’t have had him hanging around so much.”

“Don’t be silly,” Liam yawned. “You practically live here. It’s as much your place as it is mine, except I’m actually paying rent.”

Louis laughed, the vibrations reverberating through Liam’s body. “I could start paying rent if you like.”

Surprisingly enough, Liam considered this for a long moment. Living with Louis would be simple enough, not all that different than how they were currently, and despite the obvious issue -- the lack of a second bedroom -- it seemed like, well, a really good idea.

“No,” he said, hoping the reluctance wouldn’t show in his voice. Louis easily entwined his legs with Liam’s. “Because then you’d break the rules more than you already do.” He could only imagine what Louis would get up to if he had full run of the place, including but not limited to having sex everywhere in the apartment and using up all the hot water.

“Scout’s honour that our flat would be a Zayn-free zone.” Louis paused. “Unless Niall is here, too.”

He really ought to say no again, but he was tired and Louis was a very comfortable presence at his side, so Liam just smiled and said, “Then pay all the rent you like”, and with a kiss to the top of Louis’ head he went back to dreamland.

 

 

Living with Louis was, as expected, not all that different than before.

It took the other boys a couple of weeks to even notice, which was definitely saying something to the extent at which Liam’s privacy had been invaded. It was a Sunday they had off, and there was a football match on, so obviously Liam’s flatscreen was the best place to be.

“You used up all the toothpaste,” Liam groaned, sticking his head out of the loo to glare at the side of Louis’ face. “ _Again._ Why can’t you throw it out or, I don’t know, buy a new tube?”

“Because I won’t buy the right brand, or I’ll forget to place it in the rubbish just right,” said Louis matter-of-factly. He was stretched along the couch with his feet in Zayn’s lap, surprisingly considerate of Liam’s feelings on PDA now that they shared such a small space.

“You’re insufferable,” Liam said.

Niall told them to shut the fuck up before he knocked their heads together, but that didn’t stop Zayn from giving Liam an inscrutable look and asking Louis something quietly. Louis nodded and grinned.

“Yeah, I live here now,” he said cheerfully, and Niall threw a shoe at him. Zayn looked very pointedly at the door to the only bedroom before turning back to the screen.

 

 

If Liam had any delusion that Louis liked him just as much as he liked Zayn, it was shattered the moment Zayn called and said what Liam would later consider to be the best words in the English language -- “Call Niall, we’re going to the pub on Fifth. I want to introduce you to someone.”

It turned out that Zayn had neglected to mention, for nearly two months, the name of his top client.

 

 

“Harry Styles,” Liam was the first to choke out, as Louis and Niall were still staring owlishly at the _international popstar_ across the table. They were in a secluded corner of the pub, a large man who was introduced as Paul standing nearby in case of crazy fans. Liam wondered if Louis counted in that category.

Harry flicked the curls from his forehead and grinned in the same movement, and Liam saw Louis clutch at his heart out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, and you’re Liam Payne,” he drawled, laughing at the stunned expression on Liam’s face. “I don’t live under a rock, you know, I’m very aware that you’re Doctor number Thirteen.” Niall nudged his side, like Liam needed him to point out sans words that _Harry Styles knew who he was_ \-- he was mentally freaking out enough about that, thanks. It didn’t help matters in the slightest that Zayn was sitting there, next to Harry, all smug and yeah, no, Louis definitely liked him more than he liked Liam.

He looked at the other two expectantly, and after a few seconds of awkward silence, Liam stepped in with a, “This is my companion for the series, Louis Tomlinson, and that’s Niall Horan, but I’m not entirely sure what he does.”

Zayn’s eye twitched at the word ‘companion’, and oh. Oh. Zayn was jealous of Liam, that was what was happening here. The idea was so ridiculous that Liam laughed and shook his head at Zayn, whose frown only deepened. He wondered if the Harry Styles thing was a way to capture Louis’ attention completely -- if that was the case, it severely backfired, seeing as Louis couldn’t tear his gaze away from Harry himself for a second.

Not oblivious to the staring, but tactful enough to ignore it, Harry leaned across the table so he was (in theory) speaking only to Liam.

“Actually, I recognise you from 2010. We were roommates at Bootcamp.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to him as Liam choked on air, sifting through the memories of his second try at a singing career. He vaguely remembered his roommate, a gangly 16-year-old who sang Michael Jackson in the shower, slept naked, and told everyone to call him Haz.

“That was _you_?”

Harry shook his head in mock-disappointment. “I can’t believe you never realised. You’re the reason I went back a few years later -- I mean, I know it didn’t exactly work for you, but you _did_ try again, so I knew I had to. You’re like, my inspiration.”

“You’re joking,” Liam said, deadpan, and Harry laughed.

“A bit, yeah. But you were super into it; made me realise I wanted it as more than just, like, a hobby.”

There was a short silence. Then, Niall burst out with, “Both of you knew Harry Styles and you never told us? I feel betrayed, guys, _betrayed._ ”

“Yeah,” Louis said, the first thing he’d said since they sat down. He was beginning to lose his star-stuck look, mouth curving mischievously as he pinched Liam’s nipple. “You’ll have to make it up to us by sharing all sorts of embarrassing stories.”

“Liam ripped his trousers on stage,” Harry exclaimed the same moment Liam said, “Haz kept a picture of Caroline Flack under his pillow.”

Zayn, a bit slow on the uptake, just laughed and ruffled Harry’s curls. “He always did like them older.”

“I auditioned once,” Niall said, apparently on his own train of thought. “But Katy Perry didn’t like me, so I didn’t get in.” They all looked at Louis, who shrugged and said he’d never even tried to audition; his voice was so far from good enough. After the assurances from both Liam and Zayn that he was, indeed, quite the singer, Harry turned on Liam again curiously.

“Here I always thought you were keeping quiet on my stories from that year out of the goodness of your heart,” he said, humour laced in his voice. “And the truth of it was just that you didn’t remember.”

“Sorry,” Liam said. “I just -- I only knew you as Haz, the boy who walked around naked a lot.” He ignored the raised eyebrows Louis was sending his way. “Not as, you know, _Harry Styles_ , heartbreaker extraordinaire. I never would have guessed you were -- yeah.”

“Well, I’m not complaining.” Harry sat back, lacing his fingers together behind his head.

The hilarious thing, Liam thought, about Zayn’s obvious (now that he thought on it) jealousy, was that he seemed totally cool with Louis checking out the singer beside him, yet his smile dropped the second Louis clapped a hand to Liam’s shoulder. He really ought to pull Zayn aside and explain why he had no reason whatsoever to be suspicious of their camaraderie, but, well, he really didn’t owe Zayn anything. He didn’t even _like_ the guy. So instead he sat back and listened to Niall and Harry’s debate on the hotness of Kim Kardashian, ignoring the glowers from across the table.

 

 

At work, Louis seemed physically incapable of shutting up about the drink they’d shared with the previous winner of X Factor. He’d be in the middle of a take, staring down a statue whose face was covered while Liam explained at top speed why blinking would be a very, very bad idea, and then he would turn to Mary and say, “Guess whose phone number I’ve got?”

“I have it, too, Louis, stop bragging,” Liam sighed, holding up his mobile. Louis inspected it and laughed in a delighted sort of way.

“Haz,” he said. “You have the household name of our generation saved in your phone as _Haz_?”

Liam stumbled over his words to explain, but Niall was taking his phone away and Mary was admonishing them for having mobiles on set, so all he could do was stick his tongue out at Louis. He got a cheeky wink in return.

 

 

It really wasn’t a big deal -- or, at least, Liam didn’t think it was. So he texted Harry a lot. Mostly it was just a back-and-forth argument of who was crazier; teenage girls or diehard Who fans (they eventually settled on teenage Who fans as the most terrifying kind) and random anecdotes from Bootcamp.

“You couldn’t have been there that long,” Niall said one day, frowning over his pizza. “A couple of weeks, maybe? Why do you have so many stories?”

Liam couldn’t think of a rational reason besides, “We were roommates,” which made little sense considering he was currently rooming with Louis in every sense of the word and they never shared stories. Louis had, of course, taken this as an insinuation that they weren’t interesting enough to _have_ stories and sulked until the curiosity got the better of him and he read Liam’s texts.

They were taking a five-minute break after shooting some more running scenes, and Louis had gotten to Liam’s phone first, so Liam was met with a wide-eyed stare from his best mate.

“All right?” he asked, trying to shake the sweat out of his hair. Louis shoved the mobile in his face, where a text from ‘Haz’ was flashing: _dinner & drinks tonight? x_ “Tell him yes for me, will you?”

“I --” It looked like Louis was having a hard time finding words, despite his twenty-some-odd years of speaking the English language. “You. Have you -- have you been hanging around with Harry Styles behind our backs, Doctor?” Niall, who was standing by the buffet table, whipped his head around.

“No,” said Liam truthfully.

“Then --”

“Well, if he wants to hang out now, I’m not about to say no, am I?”

Louis’ eyes were boring into his. Then, drawing out every syllable as though implying Liam was quite dim, he said, “Harry Styles doesn’t want to hang out. Harry Styles just asked you on a date.”

Now Niall’s mouth was hanging open, but he was too far away to join the conversation without alerting everyone in a five-mile radius of the topic at hand. Liam just laughed. Really, was Louis under the impression that everyone was gay? It was probably the ‘x’ that had Louis misunderstanding, but Harry signed all his texts like that, Louis ought to know.

“Sure he did. Because blokes don’t go for dinner and drinks all the time.” Louis still looked unconvinced, so Liam reminded him, “I like girls.”

Niall chimed in then with a “Harry Styles _is_ fit, though”, and his voice carried so that the whole crew joined in the discussion. Well, ‘discussion’ wasn’t quite the right term. ‘Shouting at Louis to stop talking about Harry Styles’ was more accurate.

 

 

“So what are you going to wear on your date?”

Liam gave Louis a look, but of course it was ignored. Louis just flopped onto his -- their? -- bed and gave him a shit-eating grin. That never meant anything good.

“It’s not a date,” Liam said uselessly.

“Might be.”

“Isn’t.”

“Would you like me to ask him, to be sure?” Louis was already getting his phone out, and Liam supposed he should have stopped him, but the prospect of saying ‘I told you so’ was too good to pass up, really. Liam _loved_ saying ‘I told you so’.

As he tapped the screen, Louis narrated the text he was sending; “Liam says not a date, but I say it so is. Clear things up?”

While they waited for the reply -- which shouldn’t take long, considering Harry was practically glued to his mobile -- Liam tugged his t-shirt off and searched in the dresser for one of his plaid shirts. Not that this was a date, but he was meeting a very well-known person for dinner, so probably it was a good idea to look presentable. He’d had a fair share of paps ever since he was announced as the new Doctor, but Harry was on a whole other level of famous.

“Have you seen --”

“It’s, uh, in the bottom drawer, I think.” Louis sounded strange, but seemed perfectly fine when Liam turned to him.

Liam looked, wondering, like he did every time he bent over or took his shirt off, if Louis was checking him out. The idea didn’t bother him, exactly, it was just something that nagged at him. There had to be something triggering Zayn’s jealousy, after all, and if Louis was -- but that was probably three different levels of offensive to think about, or something.

“It’s not.”

For longer than usual, Louis was quiet. Then he said, “It is”, which was a blatant lie.

“No, it’s --”

“No, I mean, it is. It is a date. Harry says it can be not-a-date if you want, but. Yeah. I told you so.” Louis said all of this in a rush, and Liam was hoping he’d heard wrong. He knew, realistically, he hadn’t, and couldn’t think of anything to say. So he said nothing at all.

 

 

Absolutely, it should have been awkward. Liam had been in this position a few times, with girls, and every time he went home wanting to shoot himself in the foot. Harry, however, took the whole I-asked-you-out-and-you-didn’t-realise thing in stride. Possibly he just didn’t care, but Liam thought back to when he was seventeen and hopeful, sharing a tiny room with a nudist in training, and -- well, it was entirely likely that Harry simply had no shame.

“I’m not making a pass at you,” he was saying now, sliding into the very secluded booth across from Liam. “I just really want to eat without being pestered.”

“I thought VIP tables were a myth,” was all Liam could think to respond with. Harry let out a ridiculous bark of laughter and then covered his mouth like he couldn’t believe he’d made such a noise -- it was, well, endearing. There was no other word for it, and Liam very much didn’t want to use words like ‘endearing’ or ‘cute’ when he thought about Harry, because Harry was number one in nine different countries and he’d asked Liam, of all people, on a _date_. It wasn’t computing. Louis, too, was baffled; mysteriously quiet up to the moment Liam walked out the door.

A lady came to take their orders, her face composed but bright red. Harry had obviously been here before, because he said a string of words Liam only vaguely recognised without asking for the menu.

“And for you, Doctor?” she asked in a lilting Welsh accent, like she’d been working up the nerve to say it.

Liam gave her a bright grin and told her to surprise him. She giggled, but reined it in to keep up the illusion of being professional, and he winked just like he knew the Doctor would. Harry gave him an amused look after she’d ducked out.

“Oi,” he said. “Just because this isn’t a date doesn’t mean you get to flirt with our server. You’re gonna hurt my feelings.”

Cheeky as always. Liam laughed.

“That wasn’t -- no, if I was trying to flirt, you’d be able to tell, what with the stammering and the really bad chat-up lines. It’s not a pretty sight, I promise you.”

The awkwardness Liam had been expecting didn’t make an appearance for the next hour or so. Liam got some delicious steak and potatoes, and Harry had a dish of pasta with a very complicated name, which he then spent a good chunk of their dinner explaining how to make. Apparently, Harry was quite the cook.

It was sort of like talking to Louis, except that Harry could actually be quiet for longer than a couple of minutes to pay attention to Liam’s stories.

“I just came home one day and my turtle was missing a foot,” he said, grinning over his iced tea, and Harry laughed his stupid, sorry-I-can’t-stop-myself-from-making-this-noise, _famous_ laugh. See, when Liam had told Louis about this, Louis had stared at him, said in a deadpan voice, “You lead a _crazy_ life,” and moved onto whether or not the showrunners would be open to the idea of a planet inhabited by nothing but carrots.

And it wasn’t -- Liam adored Louis, he really did, but sometimes it was nice to have a break from him.

Like magic, Harry’s mobile chirped. He checked it, still chuckling.

“It’s Louis,” he said, surprised. “He wants to know if I’ve chucked you in the Thames, seeing as you’re not answering any of his texts.”

“Oh,” Liam said. “I -- my phone’s off, I turned it off.”

Harry observed him, his straight face betrayed by the dimples that were threatening to come out entirely. “I thought this wasn’t a date.”

There had been steak and lots of small talk and Liam had turned off his phone and they were going to get drinks after and Harry was giving him this _look_ through his lashes and -- yeah, fuck it.

“It could be,” Liam said simply.

“Thanks for the memo,” said Harry, tapping out a quick message on his phone and pressing the off button.

 

 

Crises about his sexuality were easier dealt with after a couple of glasses of whatever Harry was drinking; a sharp, tangy taste that burned Liam’s throat on the way down. He only drank when it was totally necessary, and he felt that this qualified as a drinking occasion.

He wanted to point accusingly at Harry and yell “You turned me gay!” but that was less an oversimplification than an outright lie. For one thing, Liam would _not_ classify himself as gay -- he still liked girls. A lot. The bartender with her cleavage out to here was more attractive than the topless bloke on the dance floor, and Harry definitely seemed to agree, eyes lingering for longer than socially acceptable when she bent to wipe the counter. When he caught Liam’s raised brows he just grinned, unabashed.

“Since this is a date,” Liam said, the music and alcohol raising his voice above regular volume, “you shouldn’t be allowed to ogle breasts all night.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed easily enough.

He looked unfairly good, which Liam had noticed when they met at the restaurant but now took on a different meaning. Now the jeans weren’t just ‘a little tight’, and the top buttons on his shirt weren’t anything but deliberately open to make Liam go insane. Well, more insane.

See, the thing was, Harry wasn’t the first guy to show interest. Liam had had quite a few that -- well, the point was, Harry was the first Liam was interested in right back.

What had changed? Had anything changed? Did Liam wake up bisexual one day or was this just -- Harry? A fluke? He looked again at the shirtless dancing man, but felt no butterflies or what the fuck ever he was supposed to. Liam didn’t know what to _do_.

“You’re the first bloke I’ve ever fancied,” Liam told him, aware of the distressed note in his voice. “That wasn’t, like, Justin Bieber or Robbie Williams or whatever. They don’t count. They’re popstars.”

“So am I,” Harry laughed. “Maybe you have a popstar fetish, Liam Payne.”

Huh. Maybe.

Liam wasn’t going to think about it anymore, because Harry was taking the empty glass from him and declaring that, since this was indeed a date, Liam was going to have to dance with him. He really saw no reason to object and let himself be dragged off.

 

 

“If you weren’t in the middle of a popstar fetish slash sexuality crisis,” Harry was saying as he pulled his car up to Liam’s apartment building, “I would totally kiss you right now.”

“You can,” said Liam. He ignored the nervous pounding in his chest when he said it because, like, being attracted to a guy was one thing, but kissing one in a completely serious, not at all goofing around sort of way -- it was a scary thought. Harry looked at him carefully, but laughed and shook his head. Liam didn’t know if he was more relieved or disappointed by the reaction.

“Next time,” Harry promised, and Liam’s heart picked up speed again.

 

 

Louis wasn’t home, but Liam answered his (many) texts with a simple ‘was fun n im not @ bttm of thames so +1 for me’. He didn’t get a response but it _was_ pretty late, and Louis had probably skipped off to Zayn’s. Or Niall’s. Whatever the reason, Liam was glad for his roommate’s absence, because it meant he could get his laptop out and Google ‘list of sexualities’ without anyone looking over his shoulder and laughing at him.

There couldn’t just be -- there was no way you had to be straight, gay, or bi. There had to be more, Liam was sure of it. After clicking on a few promising links, he felt a little overwhelmed.

There was so _much_ more.

He did spent an hour or two trying to educate himself, but at the end of the night, when he finally crawled into the bed that was too big without Louis, only one thing really stuck with him. _Sexuality is fluid._

 

 

Harry started hanging around, like, a lot. He had a couple of weeks off before he had to go on tour, and it didn’t escape Liam’s notice that most of his free time was spent with Liam -- and, by extension, Louis.

He still hadn’t, you know, made a move on Liam, but Liam wasn’t bothered like he might have been if it was anyone else. Everything Harry did was slow and deliberate, which, wow, Liam didn’t want his mind to go down _that_ track just yet, thanks ever so much.

In fact, he wasn’t even sure if Louis knew. Knew that it had officially been a date, that Harry’s arm was almost constantly around Liam’s shoulders for a very specific reason, that Liam had coaxed Harry into singing into the recorder on his iPod because he liked the raw cadence so much more than the studio-edited version that the rest of the world had access to. It felt so obvious to Liam -- like everyone in the room could tell he was staring at Harry’s mouth when he talked -- but either Louis couldn’t tell or he didn’t care.

Regardless, it was good that Louis was oblivious, as it cut down on the amount of teasing Liam would’ve received otherwise.

He got enough of all that from Niall, who did know, who had hugged Liam through what he dubbed his Big Gay Freakout and helped him pick a label for himself (bisexual, if anyone asked, because he couldn't very well say popstar-sexual), and now felt obligated to take the mickey at every given opportunity.

“How’s your boyfriend?” he’d ask loudly on set, causing Liam to blush and everyone else to laugh.

Pictures of their date-that-wasn’t-a-date-until-it-was had surfaced online, which had led to a few thousand tweets that Liam wasn’t prepared to answer, nor did he know exactly how. Nobody but Niall and Mary the assistant director seemed to know or suspect that it was, in fact, a date, yet Liam was still hearing about it at work all the bloody time.

Louis would usually answer for him, telling them all about Harry’s cooking prowess and snoring, all mischievous and unassuming like he’d been since the day Liam met him, and god, Liam was just so glad he didn’t _know_.

“ _Are_ you my boyfriend?” he asked Harry one night, not turning away from the kettle that had yet to boil. He knew somehow that if he looked at Harry, the question would feel a million times more embarrassing.

From his perch on the opposite countertop, Harry laughed. “I could be,” he said. “If you were up for it or whatever.”

“I could be up,” said Liam, and he didn’t catch onto how it sounded until Harry coughed to hide another laugh. Liam kept silent, but he could feel his face heating up the longer Harry wasn’t speaking. Just to be a jerk, Harry hemmed and hawed until Liam turned around to give him a frustrated look.

Harry was smiling, of course, but it was a softer sort of smile than Liam had expected. He held his hand out and Liam took it, coming forward to settle in the V of Harry’s legs. He resolutely did not squeak when said legs wrapped around his waist without warning, but his expression was enough to make Harry grin widely. Liam was struck by how much he wanted to kiss it off Harry’s mouth -- and then he remembered that, well, he could.

So he did.

Really, it wasn’t all that different from kissing a girl with stubble and, wow, a lot of snogging experience. This in itself was familiar, something Liam was rather good at, if he did say so himself. He’d certainly never heard any complaints. Harry seemed to think so, anyway, if the way his fingers tangled in Liam’s hair was any indication.

Familiar. Easy.

Liam guessed that things would start getting confusing when they got to the actual, you know, sex part. That wasn’t going to be right then, so Liam figured he had some time to, whatever, scour the internet for tips or, or, ask Louis what he was supposed to do with someone else’s penis. Hypothetically.

Except thinking about Louis while Harry’s tongue traced over his teeth was all sorts of strange, so Liam did his best to stop.

 

 

The violent lovebite at the base of Liam’s throat felt like a flashing neon sign letting everyone in a hundred-mile radius know. He felt like, like they would be able to just look at him and _tell_ , but all he got were a few sniggers and catcalls on his way through the studio.

The worst part was that, whenever he swallowed, Liam could feel the bruise. He remembered the wicked grin on Harry’s puffy lips when Liam said he ought to head home since there was a long day of filming in the TARDIS. He’d left the mark so suddenly that Liam had zero time to react.

“Now all of Britain’ll see this,” he said on his way out the door, brushing his fingers along the red area. “All over the world, actually -- everyone who watches Who’ll know you’re mine.”

His. Harry’s. What a weird concept to wrap his head around. He had a _boyfriend_. Even after the frantic Googling he’d done, the idea that he could be anything but 100% heterosexual was still new and very scary. Niall -- who would be disgustingly happy for him -- had been such a big help, but he couldn’t have prepared Liam for the absolute weirdness of _having a boyfriend_.

He was so lost in his own head that he didn’t realise he’d reached Makeup until Lisa started shrieking at him.

“Payne!” She narrowed her eyes at his neck, and he resisted the urge to step back. He wasn’t scared of Lisa. Not at all. Louis, who was already sat in his chair playing Tetris on his phone, followed her gaze and blinked.

“I’m sorry?” Liam tried.

Apparently satisfied that he knew he’d done wrong, Lisa turned on Louis. “You need to stop biting him, Tommo. I know you think it’s hilarious, but we won’t be able to even cover that completely. What the hell did you do, try to suck his blood?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, just sat Liam down in his chair and chattered on about vampires with her assistant. Liam ignored the questioning looks that Louis was sending his way, because they were both well aware that Louis hadn’t left this particular lovebite, and Liam wasn’t ready to explain everything to him just yet. For the first time ever, their morning prep passed in silence.

 

 

At lunch, Liam received a text from Harry that said ‘are we telling people? x’

He honestly hadn’t thought about it. Before he could think about and consequently regret his decision, Liam replied with a ‘sure’ and then, ‘if u want 2 i mean’, because maybe Harry was worried about his reputation taking a nosedive so close to his arena tour or whatever. With reason, of course, because Liam had a lot to lose too. Maybe not quite as much, but --

‘ofc I want to, you big dork. prepare for immdt media attn x’

Liam didn’t totally understand what Harry was on about, but it was time to bounce around the TARDIS with a strangely-quiet Louis for the comic relief portion of the episode, so he shrugged and decided to deal with it later.

 

 

When Liam and Louis got home, Harry was curled up on the sofa, fast asleep.

“How did he even --” Louis asked, frozen in his tracks.

“I gave him a key a while back,” Liam said, like this was a perfectly normal thing to do. “So he had a place to hang out during the day that wasn’t surrounded by paps.”

“Oh.”

Liam was sort of aware that Louis had moved into the bathroom and turned on the shower in the time it took for him to walk to the couch, but he was preoccupied with watching Harry sleep, which was so not as creepy as it sounded.

He was snoring. Loudly. There was drool on the arm of the sofa, which should have been disgusting but instead was just sort of adorable. Damn Harry Styles.

“Haz,” Liam whispered, shaking his shoulder. “Haz, mate, wake up.”

Harry woke easily enough -- not at all like Zayn, who Liam had learned the hard way to just leave alone when he crashed on the sofa -- blinking up at Liam and wiping at his mouth with one of his sleeves.

“Eurgh,” he grimaced. “Sorry ‘m drooling all over. I didn’t mean to, honest.”

Wow, Liam was so not prepared for the way Harry’s voice sounded when he was mostly asleep. It was all rough and cracky and, ugh, Liam didn’t understand this man or why he was the catalyst of Liam’s sexuality shifting. He shoved at his newly-dubbed boyfriend until space was made for him to sit. Harry tucked himself into Liam’s side.

“S’alright,” Liam said, a bit delayed. He threaded his fingers through Harry’s curls, just because he could.

Harry grinned at him, all sleepy and _Harry_ , and Liam used his grip on Harry’s hair to tug him up into a kiss. It was nothing heavy, just a hello sort of kiss, or at least it was supposed to be. Even more uninhibited when first waking up, if that was even possible, Harry made a noise that honestly sounded like it came straight out of a porno and twisted so he could sit on Liam’s lap and press forward, erasing every thought from Liam’s head at once. Like magic.

“Hi,” Harry said against his lips, and Liam laughed, settling his hands on Harry’s thighs.

“Hey, there.”

Pulling back just enough to open his eyes, Harry asked, “How was your day?”, all polite and everything, but he had no trouble shaking his head when Liam asked if he honestly cared, and then they were kissing again and it was pretty damn wonderful.

They must have been snogging for quite a while, because the next non-Harry-related thing Liam’s brain registered was Louis’ startled yelp.

Immediately, Liam jerked back, but he couldn’t put much distance between himself and Harry without tipping the sofa over. He locked eyes with Louis, who had a Pikachu towel slung around his waist and his mobile in his hand, and he was staring at the pair of them owlishly. He would have made a pretty comical picture if Liam found the situation at all funny. Harry was predictably unconcerned, sliding off Liam’s lap so he could be somewhat appropriate but otherwise not giving a fuck about how kiss-ravaged he looked.

“Hi,” Harry said to break the strained silence.

Louis didn’t look away from Liam when he replied with a quiet greeting, eyes drifting down to find the stupid lovebite and putting two and two together with all the speed of a paraplegic turtle --

“Oh,” was all he said. And then he said it again. “Oh.”

Liam’s first instinct was to apologise, but he didn’t know exactly what he’d be apologising for. It wasn’t like he hadn’t walked in on Louis and Zayn in much more compromising positions -- ugh -- and, like, even though Louis paid half the rent and bought groceries every other week and slept in Liam’s bed it was still _Liam’s flat_ , okay, and he could snog whoever the hell he wanted to wherever the hell he wanted to.

So he fought down the impulse to turn into Ten and spew a litany of ‘I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry’s, because it wasn’t Louis’ business anyway. The quiet stretched on. Louis finally tore his eyes away and glanced down, mildly surprised to find himself in nothing but a towel.

“I’m,” Louis said, then coughed. He had to try again several times before he could get the sentence out. “I’m... very confused right now. I’m just going to -- I’m gonna put some clothes on and then I’m going to go kip at Zayn’s, alright?”

“Okay,” answered Harry. Louis’ eye twitched.

Louis ducked out of the room, and Liam looked over at Harry. Who was, of course, smiling.

“What’re you grinning at?” Liam asked, smiling automatically in response.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just... nothing.”

 

 

Liam did end up caving sometime after midnight, texting Louis an ‘im sorry lou i swear i didnt mean 2 keep it frm u’, which didn’t get a reply until the morning:

‘but you did. so.’

 

 

Slow-burn breakups were, unfortunately, something Liam had experience with. The forced laughter, the awkward silences, the times when they wouldn’t come home for nights in a row. He remembered, quite clearly, the nine-month relationship he’d had with a girl named Nicki that should’ve been over after three.

Going through the same thing with a friend was, well, new.

It was strange, because Louis didn’t move out right away, or all at once. Stuff of his just started to disappear, one by one, and it took Liam two weeks of sleeping alone and going into the bathroom to see a missing toothbrush to realise he was really gone. Harry took the news as invitation to start sleeping over, which was -- it was fine, more than fine, it just wasn’t what Liam was used to.

Harry snored a lot and woke up at the smallest thing and he didn’t move around much and he was Liam’s boyfriend so sleeping beside him should’ve been, like, normal, but he wasn’t Louis and that was all Liam could focus on.

And it wasn’t like they didn’t talk anymore, because they worked together and _close_ together as well, so they weren’t, like, ignoring each other completely or anything. It was just. Strained. Kind of awkward.

For a while Louis had tried to keep up his usual antics, but he flinched every time Liam touched him off-set and after the third dirty text from Harry he’d accidentally intercepted, he stopped taking Liam’s phone altogether. After that it was just like, well, okay, we should just stop pretending to be normal because we’re not anymore.

Louis didn’t talk as much, so Niall took over. And now it was Harry in Liam’s bed and Niall’s rambling in his ear and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He missed Louis, he did, but the issue was he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done wrong. He knew he shouldn’t have kept things from his best friend, but moving out did seem like a bit of an overreaction.

Of course he never voiced any of this, not to anyone.

Harry was leaving for his tour in less than a week, and Liam had no idea how he was going to cope.

 

 

People started to notice.

Mary tried, on several different occasions, to pull Liam aside and talk to him about Louis. Keywords of these talks included things like ‘acceptance’ and ‘jealousy’, and he always managed to find a reason to wriggle away. She wasn’t the only one who noticed, but she was the only one who guessed at the root of his bad mood.

Ever since Harry had announced their relationship to Nick Grimshaw, people had focused on Liam with a magnifying glass. Like he wasn’t in the public eye enough, he now had to deal with people on the streets asking (really rather inappropriate) questions about Harry. It was almost impossible to hide that he was in a foul state of mind, but luck favoured him in the way that nearly everyone -- both online and in his everyday life -- assumed it was all to do with Harry’s leaving.

It sort of was, though. Liam was really going to miss Harry.

He kept finding out these new things about him, like that he made killer french toast or that his Elvis impersonation was so bad it was good, and Liam didn’t want to stop learning just because Harry had to fly all over the world and perform for hordes of screaming girls.

Some things weren’t new; very reminiscent of Bootcamp, actually. Specifically the walking around naked. He thought it might be weird, since, like, he’d seen plenty of naked men in his life -- it was kind of inevitable when you played as many sports as Liam did -- but none of them had been his boyfriend. The only weird thing about it, really, was that it felt like it probably _should_ be weird, Harry climbing in to shower with him or tugging him close for a morning snog while totally nude, but it just wasn’t.

The thing was that Liam was still too chicken to actually touch Harry. Well, parts of Harry.

Harry didn’t mind or anything, because Harry didn’t mind much, but he was going to Sweden in three days and Liam thought that he should just, just man up and _do something_ , because it wasn’t like he didn’t want to. Fuck, did he want to. He just -- he had no idea what he was doing.

He resolved to get over his fear of touching his own boyfriend before he went away for months on end, but that sort of thing was much easier said than done.

 

 

One day, Louis didn’t show up to work. It didn’t bother Liam too much, because he had plenty of scenes to shoot with other people and nobody else seemed overly concerned that one of the stars was MIA. He assumed Louis was sick or something and put it from his mind, focussing all his energy on being the Doctor.

Niall informed him, at the end of the day, the real reason Louis wasn’t around.

“You haven’t heard?” he asked, surprised. He was hanging about Liam’s trailer, waiting for him to change so he could bum a ride home. “Tommo’s character is being killed off for the finale.”

Liam froze with his shirt half-off. “What?”

“Yeah. He’s totally gutted.”

Well of course he was. Liam felt rather winded himself from the news, and _he_ wasn’t the one being kicked off after only one series. It didn’t make any sense -- Benny Cooper was an interesting character with loads of potential. He said as much to Niall, who bit his lip and turned very pitying eyes on Liam.

“It’s over, mate,” he said, not unkindly. “Lou’s got three more weeks of work and then...”

And then what? Liam was living this life, he knew exactly what Louis must be going through. Sure, yeah, they weren’t _really_ going off to imaginary planets or saving John Lennon from some extraterrestrial phenomenon, but it _felt_ like they were. It was the best escape from reality Liam had ever had, and he knew Louis felt the same. God, he must be so...

“I should call him,” Liam said. Niall only sighed, because they both knew he wasn’t going to.

 

 

He didn’t call Louis.

In fact, he pushed every thought he’d ever had about the guy -- from ‘who’s the student in my trailer’ to ‘why won’t you look me in the eye’ -- to the back of his mind. Maybe if he pretended like it was happening to a stranger, it wouldn’t hurt so much. It _shouldn’t_ hurt so much. It wasn’t like it affected Liam’s career.

So instead he went straight home and found Harry in the kitchen, naked and grinning while he poured tea for them both. He looked like he’d just stepped out of the shower and hadn’t bothered with a towel, which.

“How was your --” was all he got out before Liam kissed him. Hard. Harry made a surprised little noise, but looped his arms around Liam’s neck and let himself be pressed into the counter without complaint.

Stupid Louis. Liam didn’t want to feel bad for him -- he was the one who walked away, after all. But, no, he wasn’t thinking of Louis, he _wasn’t_ , he was thinking of the imprints his fingers were leaving in Harry’s bare hips and the smell of Liam’s shampoo in his curls.

He pulled away, stifling a chuckle at Harry’s glassy-eyed look. Harry just smiled at him, all dimples and lazy adoration, and Liam pushed his fear right back with the thoughts of ‘what is Louis doing now’.

“You -- you’ll have to, er, tell me what to do,” Liam said. He answered Harry’s confused look by dropping to his knees.

 

 

He would not comfort Louis. He would not comfort Louis. He repeated this like a mantra in his head, because no matter how pathetic Louis looked, Liam was simply not welcome to be that person anymore. The hand he’d tried to put on Louis’ shoulder between takes was thrown off by Louis violently jerking away and if that’s how he wanted to be, Liam would let him, damn it.

Liam ate lunch alone, his back turned to the table where Louis was sat, letting himself be consoled by everyone that was not currently Liam.

 

 

Harry was leaving at two and, since Liam was unsuccessful in getting the morning off, tagged along to the read-through of the finale. None of the people in charge seemed very happy about it, but they also weren’t sure how to kick _Harry Styles_ out, so he stayed.

He was a respectful enough guest, keeping quiet unless directly spoken to and volunteering to get the pizza for lunch. His arm was around Liam’s shoulder whenever it could be, and he would squeeze Liam closer every time something emotional came up. He was being so good, so good, and Louis would not stop glaring at him.

Probably no one else could tell, but in the months of working and living together Liam had learned far too much about Louis, his expressions and his mannerisms, and Harry’s presence was irritating the hell out of him. Liam could tell by the jumping muscle in Louis’ jaw and a sharpness in his voice that wasn’t necessary for the scenes. He could tell, but he didn’t _understand_.

Too soon, Harry’s watch beeped. They were all chatting casually around a deluxe pizza, somebody making a joke that if Niall were there it’d be gone already.

“I have to go,” Harry said. He stood up in the most reluctant way Liam had ever seen. It would’ve been funny except that Liam was just as reluctant to let him leave. Liam made to stand with him, but Harry’s hand on his shoulder kept him in place. “Nah, you’re needed here, Doctor.”

Liam looked up at him and, as uncomfortable as he was to do this in front of a couple dozen other people, said, “I’ll -- you know, miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, babe,” Harry said quietly. Then he leaned down to catch Liam’s lips in a far too brief kiss. “Text me when you can?”

“You know it.”

With one last grin, Harry ducked out of the room. Wary of how silent everyone in the room was, Liam turned to face them. They were all looking at him, unabashed. Except Louis.

“Oh, aww,” said one of the guest stars like she couldn’t help herself.

Mary winked at him. “You two are so sweet, Payne.” While the rest of his co-workers cooed over him and Harry, Liam flushed and stared at the tabletop. He smiled in spite of himself.

They got bored of the topic after a few minutes, so Liam chanced a glance up and accidentally locked eyes with Louis.

It was like -- he didn’t even look like Louis, not really. Every nuance, every facial tick that Liam had mentally catalogued away as another piece of Louis Tomlinson... it was completely gone. Like Louis was wearing a mask of indifference that was incredibly well crafted.

Neither of them looked away until they were called back to attention to do their jobs.

 

 

Okay, so, Liam had experienced some weird things in his lifetime, but watching his boyfriend on television, doing promotional work in Sweden when a few days before he’d been panting into Liam’s hair definitely took the cake.

He was at Niall’s, eating take-away and chatting about football, when Niall got a text from Zayn to turn on a certain channel. Harry’s face had greeted them when they did so, and it was just so surreal -- Liam wondered if it would be just as weird, if not weirder, to watch himself on telly in a few weeks. He and Louis were scheduled to do some promotional work of their own, which was not something Liam was looking forward to.

The interview was fairly typical (though Niall was enthralled anyway), and then it got weirder than just seeing his boyfriend on screen.

“So as I understand it,” the interviewer was saying in a light Swedish accent, “you’re currently dating the new Doctor Who?”

“I am,” said Harry, smiling wide.

Niall looked at him and Liam belatedly realised that, oh, they were talking about him. That was just -- that was so _weird_ , it was the icing on top of the weirdness cake.

“And how is that going? Had any adventures yet?”

“It’s going good, yeah. We just get on really well and everything, so,” Harry said in his interview voice. Then he dropped it, expression turning fond. “Adventures not so much, but last week we found a kitten, right, and I kid you not, it was stuck in a tree. So, Li, being the hero that he is, rescued it.” Niall shot Liam a disgusted look, but Liam was too hooked on Harry’s words to care. “Yeah, he’s perfect for the role, as you can tell. He’s just -- such a good guy.” Liam felt his heart grow three sizes, like the Grinch or something. He didn’t know Harry thought all that about him.

Jumping on the chance to talk about something so popular with someone so famous, the man asked Harry if he’d been on set, what he thought about the new companion, if he was going to be watching during the tour.

“Oh, I’ll definitely be watching. I mean, I would be no matter what, but the opportunity to make innuendos about his sonic screwdriver is just too good to pass up,” Harry laughed and Niall choked on his chicken. “I’ve been around the set a couple of times, yeah, but I haven’t gotten into the TARDIS just yet.”

“Maybe when you get home,” suggested the Swedish guy.

Harry cocked his head, smiling. “Maybe. Lou’s pretty protective of it, so.”

“Lou? You mean Louis Tomlinson?”

Honestly, it felt like Liam’s heart skipped a beat. Which really wasn’t healthy -- he already had kidney problems, he didn’t need a heart one to go with it, thanks.

“I do.”

“And what do you think of him? Is he good, as a companion? Good enough to last another series?”

He was, Liam thought fiercely. He was good enough to outlast Liam on the show, but he wasn’t going to, because the hired screen-testers had talked too much about the rise in homoeroticism this series and the showrunners’ response was to bring in yet another pretty young girl. It was -- it was fucking ridiculous, frankly, but whatever. Liam wasn’t thinking about Louis if he could help it.

Harry answered carefully, so as not to give anything away. “I love Louis, he’s great. Wonderful, yeah. I’ve watched him do his thing and he’s got some serious talent. I think that, even when he’s done with Doctor Who, he won’t have any trouble finding a job.”

“You think he really believes that?” Niall asked as the interview was steered back to the topic of Harry’s album.

“Yeah,” Liam said, watching Harry flick his hair back and laugh. “Yeah, I think he does.”

“Do you --” Niall was unusually hesitant, fiddling with his fork, and Liam had to put an arm around him before he continued. “Do you think so too? I mean, do you think Lou will be all right?”

If there was one thing about Louis that Liam was 100% certain about, it was his talent. “I really, really do, Nialler.”

“Me too,” said Niall, and that was the end of that.

 

 

“We don’t want you to be surprised again,” said Sharon, one of the Big Cheeses, as she handed over a portfolio. The photograph was cute, and her credentials were better than Liam was expecting, but this Eleanor Calder just wouldn’t be as good a companion as Louis, hands down. (It kind of worried him that he was thinking that way, because he and Louis still weren’t speaking outside of scripted lines and if he was lucky he would have another companion after Eleanor, but the fact of the matter was that the TARDIS would feel empty without Louis’ vibrant presence.)

 

 

Why hadn’t anyone warned Liam that long distance kind of sucked?

Even aside from Harry being a popstar and moving countries faster than Niall changed his socks and girls throwing themselves at his feet and everything, it was just _strange_ to wake up without bacon cooking, and Liam often threw an arm out in his sleep to pull Harry close when nothing was there.

The short version was that he missed his boyfriend, and texting/tweeting/skyping/calling just didn’t feel the same. He couldn’t pinch Harry’s cheeks or feel the warmth of him, and that was -- that was all Liam had of him, really. His face was world-famous, along with his voice, and a lot of his super-fans knew more about him than Liam did, but Liam could touch him. He could wrap his arms around Harry, listen to his heartbeat, play with his hair, but now he _couldn’t_ because Harry was in sodding Australia.

Niall was helping as much as he could, and Liam thought that by the end of it all he might owe Niall his firstborn, since now he was trying to be there for Liam and fill the Harry-void along with the Louis-void.

“I’m not snogging you, though,” Niall said.

“That’s too bad,” Liam said. “I was really hoping for some Horan kisses.”

“Well, you’ll have to wait just that much longer.” Niall shrugged, returning to his chicken. They were eating at Liam’s after a long day of filming on location, too tired and lazy to do anything but swing by a fast-food place.

Harry would’ve -- he would’ve had dinner waiting, or he’d be in the middle of cooking, Liam guessed. He loved watching Harry cook, because he got super intense about it all, whisking like he was whisking for England and not realising how silly he looked with flour smudges on his cheeks. God, he missed Harry -- it was like a physical ache.

“I miss Haz,” said Liam, and Niall nodded in understanding. “And I wish Louis would talk to me.”

“Ah, well,” Niall said. He was suddenly very interested in his chicken, though Liam couldn’t tell if it was because he was hiding something or because he was being Niall. “Give it time.”

That should’ve been the last of it, but Liam was frustrated. His boyfriend was in Sydney and he was getting a new co-star for next year and Louis was always _there_ at the back of his mind, making quips about his day and peering over his glasses like he was trying to figure Liam out.

“I just,” he said, pausing until Niall looked up. “I _know_ I shouldn’t have kept the thing with Harry from him. He told me everything and I -- I know I shouldn’t have, but is it really worth shutting me out? I’ve apologised already, but it’s like he just... I don’t know. I just know I miss him, and it pisses me off.” He took a drink of his soda just to stop himself from babbling on.

“Is that what you think this is about?” Niall asked.

“What else would it be about?”

Niall regarded him for a long moment, then sighed and picked up a drumstick. “Give it time.”

 

 

It was Louis’ last day. There’d been a kind of party, with cake and streamers, and Lisa begged Louis not to cry because he had to still do a couple close-ups after lunch. He cried anyway, and it went against all of Liam’s instincts not to gather him up in his arms and shield him from view.

“I’m going to miss this,” Louis said shakily. “All of this. All of _you._ ”

He very purposefully didn’t look Liam’s way.

 

 

“I don’t know if this is going to work.”

Liam jerked back to attention, wondering when exactly Harry had lost his post-concert grin. Now he was looking at his computer screen with a twisted expression, and Liam couldn’t recall what they’d even been talking about to make him look that way. He remembered talking about Eleanor, who he’d met briefly, and then he steadfastly did _not_ talk about Louis, and that was around when he lost track of the conversation.

“What’s not working?” Liam asked.

“Us,” Harry said, and Liam couldn’t even be amused at the way he enunciated it. He felt panic rise and pushed it down again.

In the back of his mind he did know this was coming. “Why aren’t we working? I thought we were working fine.”

“No, you didn’t,” said Harry.

Well, no, he didn’t.

They weren’t ‘fine’, not really. A month was a long time to be away, and Liam found that what he was missing most was the comfort Harry gave him. He felt almost stable with him, like he was a man that had two kidneys and never gave up on singing and had a best friend that still cared about him and didn’t want to run for the rest of his life just like the Doctor. Harry was safe; Harry was his anchor. And that wasn’t -- it wasn’t fair to Harry. Harry needed someone to treat him as more than something nice to come home to.

“I’m sorry,” Liam said.

“It’s not your fault,” Harry said. Well, that just wasn’t true. “I’m sorry, too. When I get back -- in a couple of months, when I’ve got some time off, we’ll see if anything’s changed, but.”

“But,” Liam agreed.

Harry smiled a little sadly. “But.”

 

 

Niall came over with ice cream (that he ate), beer (that he drank), and a movie (that he fell asleep during), and as Liam threw his only blanket over his friend, he considered how lucky he really was.

 

 

“I really ought to stop using people.”

Niall frowned around a mouthful of waffles. He’d already made the obligatory comments that, see, Liam could take care of himself fine without Harry, then ignored Liam completely in favour of digging in.

“How do you mean?” Niall asked.

“I mean,” Liam said, then paused. It was hard enough to articulate the guilt in his own head, let alone out loud. Still it gnawed at him, and he tried his best to find the words. “I mean, I was using Harry, wasn’t I? Not -- not, like, for sex or anything. Well, not at first, in any case --”

“Oi, eating here. Don’t need to hear about your sex life, Li.”

“Right. Sorry. It’s just that now I feel like I’m using you like some kind of, like, replacement or something, and it’s not fair to you -- or Harry -- to have a perfectly capable grown man relying on you so much. I just -- I’m sorry.”

The only response he got for a few minutes was Niall turning back to his breakfast. Liam thought, well, probably shouldn’t have said that thing about replacements, because maybe Niall didn’t see it like that and now he was all offended and _fuck_ , couldn’t Liam do anything right? When Niall swallowed the last bit of waffle, he pushed his plate away and looked directly in Liam’s eyes. He -- Liam had never seen him so serious about anything that wasn’t football, Ireland, or Harry’s habit of stealing food off other people’s plates.

“You’re an idiot,” he finally said.

“What?” Liam asked, taken aback. That wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting to hear.

Niall sighed -- he hated using more words than he felt was necessary to explain something -- “I’m not replacing anyone, mate, I’ve been around the whole time. Besides, I don’t cook, snuggle, or hang off every word you say. I’m no Harry and I’m no Louis, and you have never once made me feel like I was, all right?”

“But --” Liam started to argue, stopping when Niall raised his fork in a very threatening manner. It was scarier than it should’ve been, really.

“Look, do you want to snog me?”

“Do I -- what? No, not really. Er. No offense.”

Spreading his hands out as if to say _there you have it_ , Niall said, “Exactly. I’m not replacing either of them, so untwist your knickers right quick.”

“I -- all right,” Liam conceded. Niall was probably right; he was probably worrying over nothing once again. Something Niall’d said was nagging at him, though. “And, hey, I don’t want to snog Louis, either.”

“Sure,” Niall said, but more like he was placating Liam than he actually believed it. When Liam’s eyes narrowed, he switched tack. “Are you coming to the wrap party on Saturday?” That was pretty effective at dragging Liam from his Louis-infested thoughts. He hadn’t even known there _was_ a wrap party.

“We’re having a wrap party?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we?”

“I don’t know if I’ll go. It’s not like I can drink or anything, so --”

“You can, too,” Niall scoffed. “Stop lying. Louis researched it ages ago, asked his doctor and everything. We know you just use your kidney as an excuse.”

“He... Louis what?”

Niall stayed silent, just _looking_ at Liam, and he had to wonder what the he knew that Liam didn’t. Quite a lot, generally -- he was much better at the guitar for one thing, and he spoke some Spanish, and he had a natural instinct with animals that Liam simply didn’t have -- but about Louis specifically.

That train of thought was a little scary to go down, so Liam said, “I guess, yeah, I can come along. I’ll be your designated driver, Nialler, how’s that sound?”

“And you thought _you_ were using _me_ ,” Niall laughed, standing up to indicate that the conversation was over and it was time to watch mindless sitcoms in silence. Stubbornly thinking of anything but Louis, Liam dumped their plates in the sink before joining Niall on the sofa.

 

 

‘have a gud show 2nite’ Liam texted Harry later that week.

He had the day off, right, but Niall didn’t, and the flat just felt so _empty_ with only Liam in it, so he decided to go for a run. However, he’d forgotten how boring it was without Louis along to entertain him. He was breaking his rule of thinking about Louis when he stopped, leaning against the chain-link fence that protected a school on his route. His mobile was in his hand before his brain could protest, and it wasn’t until his thumb was hovering over Louis’ name that his senses caught up with him and he clicked on Haz instead.

The reply came almost instantaneously and it said, ‘thanks babe x enjoy your party tamorrow hahhah’

‘how do u know baout that??’

‘I still text the other guys, it’s not just you I like x’

Liam should have known that, actually. He’d dated Harry for a little over two months, yet he had no idea that he was friends with Niall and Zayn and Louis when Liam wasn’t around. Which was kind of ridiculous when Liam thought about it, because Harry and Zayn had been friends for years and Niall often mentioned excursions he’d taken with Harry.

His phone beeped -- ‘you should talk to lou there, he won’t say anything but i know he misses you x’ -- and Liam realised that _that_ was what had taken him by surprise.

Louis talked to Harry. He talked to _Harry_ , but not to Liam.

It kind of felt like someone punched Liam in the gut, so he tucked his phone away and started jogging again.

 

 

Liam had seen Louis in various degrees of intoxication, and over the course of two hours, he watched them all make an appearance.

There were actual names for the stages, Liam was sure, but he knew them by the titles Zayn had coined when he and Louis were at school. When Liam and Niall arrived at the party, Louis was at ‘giggling and kissing everything in sight’. Liam kept an eye on him all night because he was sort of afraid Louis would hit ‘gave himself a concussion by passing out on concrete steps’, and nobody needed ‘stripper Louis’ either.

Right off the bat, Niall grabbed a drink and disappeared into the throng of people, leaving Liam alone to make a temporary home on the nearest loveseat and watch for disasters.

By the time Louis collapsed beside Liam, fixing him with a hazy glare, he looked to be somewhere between ‘angry at the world’ and ‘breaking tables’.

“Fuck you,” was the first nonscripted thing Louis said to Liam in _weeks_.

“Excuse --”

“Fuck. You. What was the first thing you told me, Liam, do you remember?” Louis leaned close, and Liam noticed that his breath smelled very strongly of rum.

Liam wracked his brain. “Er, ‘who are you?’”

“ _No_ , not the first thing _ever_ , Liam, the first thing that you -- the reason I’m angry, Liam, do you remember why I’m angry?” Louis asked. That was probably the most unhelpful thing Louis could have possibly said, because Liam had never been totally sure why Louis was angry, secrets involving a popstar aside. Louis still knew him well enough to scoff derisively and say, in a high-pitched voice that sounded nothing like Liam’s, “I like girls!” Oh, yes, Liam supposed he had said that.

“I do like girls,” Liam said. “I still like girls. I just -- I liked Harry, too.”

Louis looked like he was struggling not to blurt something out, so Liam raised a careful hand to rest on the side of Louis’ neck. He took it as a good sign that it wasn’t thrown off -- Louis kind of melted into his touch, actually, which was nice because they hadn’t really _touched_ in so long, not without being told to. Liam could feel the throb of Louis’ steady pulse and underneath the smell of rum was the Gucci stuff Louis loved so much, and the simple contact was like coming home after a holiday. Vaguely, Liam registered the fact that people around them were staring, pointing, muttering, but he didn’t care in the slightest.

“I just,” Louis said, voice almost too quiet in the din of music and chattering people. “I kind of... I wish it was me? I was, was just sort of angry that you went and had a sexuality crisis over not-me.”

“Sorry,” Liam said automatically. His brain had already left the conversation, replaying things Niall had said and oh, _oh_ , Zayn’s jealousy made a lot of sense now, and so did a few other things, and also, _what_. “I -- I didn’t know you wanted me to have a crisis over you.”

“Fuck you,” Louis said again. “Fuck you and your singular kidney, and your, your, your old eyes, and your sheets that smell like oranges, and your _sodding_ boyfriend. Fuck you, Liam Payne, I’ve never wanted anything like I wanted you to have a crisis over me.”

That was. These were definitely things Louis would never say in sobriety. Liam didn’t know what to do with them, in his own whirling mind as much as out loud. It was like some things were suddenly shrouded in questions while others had been put into the light of comprehension. Louis’ eyes were closed now, his face turning to press into Liam’s hand. Liam took the hint and slid his hand to cup Louis’ jaw instead, thumb brushing along a cheekbone.

Louis sighed, small and relieved, like he thought Liam would be angry or something, and Liam knew he had to respond.

“I hate not having you around,” he said. “The flat is so empty, and even with Harry or Niall there it was empty because it’s you, Lou, that makes it not-empty, and I, I still don’t believe I have old eyes, and since my detergent is mango-scented I think you might be smellblind, because if such a thing existed it would be you of all people who had it, wouldn’t you, and I don’t have a boyfriend. Anymore.”

He said all this in such a rush he thought it would be a miracle if Louis understood any of it. His eyes had flown open at the last, though, so at least one thing seemed to have gotten through.

“You don’t?” Louis asked, the alcohol making it harder for him to hide the hopeful note in his voice. Liam smiled and shook his head. Which -- now Louis was _leaning in_ , fuck, and Liam pulled back a bit sharply because he honestly hadn’t been expecting that.

“Zayn,” he protested, and Louis looked confused for a whole ten seconds before bursting into giggles. It took him a while to stop, and by the time he calmed down he’d shifted so he was flush along Liam’s side and smiling brightly.

“I’m still staying at his, but we broke up ages ago,” said Louis.

“I -- why?”

“He said it was painfully obvious I was in love with someone else,” Louis said, meeting Liam’s gaze. “But he let me stay in his spare room because he is a bloody wonderful guy.”

Zayn really was a great guy, and now that Liam had a better grasp on the reasons he’d disliked Zayn in the first place, he had no trouble admitting it out loud. “Sleeping alone sucks,” he added, apropos of nothing, and Louis said, “God, yeah,” and this time, when he leaned forward, Liam didn’t stop him.

They were surrounded by co-workers and Niall was cheering somewhere behind Louis, but that didn’t matter because Louis was kissing Liam, and, wow.

After so many months of being in such close proximity to Louis, Liam thought he knew everything there was to know. Like, he knew that Louis chewed on his bottom lip whenever he did the crossword, but he couldn’t have expected how good it felt to have the sharp teeth sinking into his own lip -- and he knew Louis could down a pint without coming up for breath, but only now was he translating that talent to snogging. It wasn’t anything like kissing Harry; instead of the lazy slide of tongues Liam was now used to, Louis chased him, pinned him, dug his fingernails into Liam’s thigh until it hurt.

“Christ,” Liam said, breaking away to catch his breath. Louis wasn’t deterred at all, immediately attaching his mouth to Liam’s neck and biting so hard that Liam felt his eyes roll back into his skull. “Christ, Lou.”

“I’d like to,” Louis said against Liam’s skin, sounding almost shy, “I’d really like to prove you wrong, because your sheets smell like oranges, not mangos, and you’re obviously the smellblind one. Can I do that, please? Can I -- can I prove it to you?”

“I’m supposed to --” Liam swallowed hard when Louis’ fingers started tracing the inseam of his jeans “-- bring Niall home. I’m his designated driver.”

He could see Niall over Louis’ head, though, and it looked like he was glaring daggers at Liam for bringing it up. ‘Get in there!’ he mouthed, complete with obscene hand gestures. Well, there went Liam’s responsibility for the night. If Niall ended up dead in a ditch somewhere he’d have no one but himself to blame, since Louis was getting increasingly hard to resist.

Louis hummed, moving his lips up to Liam’s jaw and kissing lightly. “Fuck Niall.”

Probably it was Harry’s influence, but the “I’d rather fuck you, honestly” came out of Liam’s mouth before he could even try to stop it. Louis _really_ didn’t seem to mind, arching against him and making a loud enough noise that Niall cracked up some six feet away.

A lot of people started laughing, actually, when Louis tugged Liam to his feet and out the door, but it was good-natured enough and Liam couldn’t find it in himself to care when Louis was looking at him like _that_.

 

 

“Harry wants to know if we’re currently shagging,” Louis said from the sofa. He was wearing a pair of Liam’s boxers and the Superman t-shirt he _swore_ was his. It was almost strange to be with someone who kept their nudity limited to the bedroom, Liam thought as he handed Louis a large glass of water and a handful of pills to stave off the worst of the hangover.

“Tell him he’s a few hours late, he underestimated us,” Liam said, sitting down and throwing an arm around Louis’ shoulders. It was gratifying that he leaned immediately into Liam’s warmth -- they really hadn’t had much contact recently, and Liam had missed just snuggling with Louis.

Tapping away on his phone, Louis started to smile, and Liam nosed at his hair just to smell Louis’ fruity shampoo. He thought, _man, I kind of love this guy_ , and the knowledge didn’t surprise him the way it might have, before Harry. Liam decided he owed Harry a gift basket or something, since the curly-haired lad obviously knew more than he’d let on from the get-go. It made Liam feel much less guilty about using him, really.

Louis said, “Huh,” which jerked Liam out of his reverie, and then, without warning, Louis raked his nails down Liam’s bare stomach.

He left long streaks of red in his wake and Liam couldn’t stop his groan if he wanted to. Damn it, he knew that trick.

“Is he giving you _pointers_?” Liam asked incredulously.

“He’s very informative,” was all Louis said on the matter. Liam threatened to call Zayn in the morning and take notes, but they both knew he was too Liam to do it. (He did end up calling Zayn, actually, but it was more of a ‘hey, now that we have less reason to hate each other we should go for coffee’ type of call, because Zayn was kind of a wonderful guy.)

“Hey,” Liam said, nudging Louis with his nose. “I’m sorry my Big Gay Freakout wasn’t over you.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Louis said dismissively. Then he paused and added, in a terrible Irish accent, “Harry Styles _is_ fit.”

“You’ll hear no arguments from me.”

Perhaps Liam sounded a bit too fervent for someone discussing their ex with their current -- whatever -- but Louis just smiled at him in fond exasperation and gave him a quick kiss.

 

 

It was Eleanor’s first time on the TARDIS, and it was Liam’s first time in nearly eight months, so even after everyone else had gone home to their families and their dinners, they mutually agreed that sticking around was a better use of their time. They lounged about on the spinning seats and chatted.

Liam liked Eleanor a lot more than he’d expected to, considering her status of being not-Louis. She was beautiful and cheeky, and he’d never seen anyone inhale pizza the way she had on their first read-through. He remembered the way Niall gaped, awestruck, and how Mary had patted her on the back in congratulations. It was sort of like she passed a test, except that she hadn’t meant to and there wasn’t really a test to begin with, but hey, the analogy stood.

He had no idea how long they’d been there, but the door of the studio was opening just as they got onto the topic of the circulating rumours that Harry had a movie deal.

“Hey,” the intruder called in a voice Liam would know anywhere. “You already have my job, leave my boyfriend alone!”

“Whatever, Tommo,” Eleanor laughed. She stood up, anyway, like Louis’ entrance was her cue to leave. Liam supposed it was, in a way. After squeezing Liam’s shoulder in farewell, she skipped through the cameras and other general machinery to get to the door, slapping Louis’ arse on her way by.

“Why, I never,” said Louis. He was coming closer, now, to run his hands all over the console like he missed it.

Which was understandable, of course, but Liam was feeling a bit neglected, here, so he stood and wrapped his arms around Louis’ midsection, chin hooked over his shoulder, and asked, “What’s the plan for dinner tonight?”

“Harry’s cooking,” Louis said. He spun in Liam’s arms so he could hook his hands behind Liam’s neck and pull him in for a kiss. “Zayn’s bringing that platypus girl he’s been seeing --”

“Her name is _Perrie_ , Louis, stop being a jerk.”

“Yes, exactly, Perrie the Platypus.” When Liam still didn’t laugh, Louis sighed. “Whatever, she thinks it’s funny.”

“I’m sure she does,” said Liam, leaning in for another kiss. It felt like he hadn’t seen Louis in days, even though he rolled out of bed with him that morning, same as always. Probably it was the atmosphere, where he was so used to Louis being there, all bouncy and excitable and ready to save the world.

When he pushed Louis back so he was resting on the console, Louis laughed and broke the kiss. “If we don’t get to Harry’s soon, Nialler’ll eat everything.”

Liam pretended he hadn’t heard that, and instead asked, very conversationally, “Ever had sex on the TARDIS console, Louis?”

“Not with you,” Louis said cheekily.

Giggling, Liam fit their mouths together again, not caring that it was actually a very awkward place to shag, or that Harry would be pissed if they were late to _another_ dinner, or even about the Doctor’s trials and tribulations.

All he cared about, in that moment surrounded by gadgets and levers, was Louis.


End file.
